


Mile High Club/Lonely Hearts Club

by queuebird



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flight Attendants, Arthur is Bad at Feelings, Inception Big Bang Challenge, Light Angst, M/M, Mile High Club, Sleazy Eamesie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 10:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20062522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queuebird/pseuds/queuebird
Summary: “There’s a creep in twelve-B,” Arthur says. “Avoid him if you can. He’s angling for better seats.”“Shit, he can have them.” Ariadne pulls the curtain back further. “Are those lips real?”“Stop looking at him,”Arthur hisses.At that moment, the man glances their way and catches Arthur’s eye. His face lights up, and he reaches to press the attendant button.“Oh my God,” Ariadne says wonderingly. She looks at Arthur and grins. “Helikesyou.”





	Mile High Club/Lonely Hearts Club

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: please DON’T harass your flight attendant they’re just doing their job THANKS
> 
> Written for Inception Big Bang 2019!
> 
> Thanks to my beta, [Andi](https://ironmanned.tumblr.com/), for working with me so quickly and so last minute….SORRY!! and also for being very cool and funny. Thanks to everyone on Discord who brainstormed this fic and answered my basic questions on how airplanes and airports and flights and stuff work--I was probably the last qualified person to actually write this, but here we are! Lastly, thanks to my fabulous, wonderful Big Bang artist [whirling](http://noitsnacktime.tumblr.com) whom I adore. It was a delight to see your art unfold in real time, and you have captured the soul of this fic, ily!!

“You know, you don’t really see a lot of male flight attendants.”

Arthur spares the man in the seat a brief glance as he rummages through his cart, but otherwise ignores him. A chatty one, then. Row to himself, too. Lucky bastard.

“Would you like complimentary earplugs and headphones, sir?” Arthur says, holding out the bag.

The man accepts it. “Thank you, darling,” he says, and smiles.

“Have a nice flight.”

“I will.” The man stops Arthur before he can move to the next row. “One more thing, love,” he says, affecting earnestness. “I get these dreadful pains in my legs if I cram in these tiny seats for too long. Obviously I know London to LA is a long flight--I swear I thought I booked the right seats when I bought the tickets--but if there’s any free places anywhere else…” He raises his eyebrows expectantly.

Arthur narrows his eyes. “We don’t do that, sir.”

“No?” The man pouts ridiculously. “Certainly a lovely vision such as yourself can make an exception for someone like me. I’m quite charming.” He smiles again, then lowers his voice, suddenly suggestive, “I’ll do _anything.”_

Arthur exhales a laugh, more disbelief than anything else. “Have a nice flight, sir.”

He moves onto the next row, feeling the heat of the man’s gaze follow him.

…

Arthur leans over to Ariadne as they’re restocking their carts in the galley.

“There’s a creep in twelve-B,” he says. “Tacky leaf shirt.”

Ariadne frowns and leans around him to peer through the curtain. She whistles. “He’s hot.”

Arthur gives her a look. “Avoid him if you can. He’s angling for better seats.”

“Shit, he can have them.” Ariadne pulls the curtain back further. “Are those lips real?”

_“Stop looking at him,”_ Arthur hisses.

At that moment, the man glances their way and catches Arthur’s eye. His face lights up, and he reaches to press the attendant button.

“Oh my God,” Ariadne says wonderingly. She looks at Arthur and grins. “He _likes_ you.”

“He _likes_ the complimentary first class champagne,” he says.

“And _you.”_ Ariadne waggles her eyebrows. “Arthur and twelve-B sittin’ in a tree…”

Arthur rolls his eyes and pushes past her. He makes his way down the aisle and raises his eyebrows at the man. “Yes?”

“Hello, darling,” the man says. “Has anyone ever told you how flattering that uniform is on your figure?”

“I know,” Arthur says, because he does. “What do you want?”

“I was just wondering if you found any open seats or if any…” the man looks at him meaningfully _“...other_ circumstances have changed.”

Arthur smiles humorlessly. “No way in hell. Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?”

The man leans forward and touches Arthur’s arm. “We’re friends, right? Call me Eames.”

Arthur presses his lips together. “Let me know if you need anything,” he says, and departs.

…

Eames spends the next two hours summoning Arthur for everything physically possible and then some--a pillow, a can of coke, to help him put his tray down, to open the overhead compartment, nail clippers, a different pillow because the first one was too lumpy, a book, a sleep mask, an extra inflight magazine, a little umbrella for his drink like the ones you get in cocktails, a souvenir pin (“I saw it in a movie once”), a tour of the cockpit. He doesn’t seem to care that Arthur usually responds with some sort of insult, just asks and asks, flatters him, makes small talk, jokes, and looks inordinately pleased with himself every time he coaxes a smile out of Arthur.

Ariadne gives Arthur the same amused, knowing look every time he complains about him. When Arthur finally asks her about it, irritated, she just says, “I know your type.”

“My type isn’t obnoxious asshole,” Arthur snipes. He’s pouring a glass of tomato juice for Eames.

“Isn’t it?” Ariadne’s eyes go big and round. “Arthur, we only want what’s best for your poor, lonely heart.”

Eames starts approaching Arthur when he’s in the galley. Eames leans against the wall and flirts shamelessly with Arthur in front of Arthur’s _colleagues,_ for God’s sake. They don’t try to help him or anything, just watch and titter about his blush.

He...blushes when he’s frustrated. It’s a problem.

Christ. Only two more hours before his shift is over.

...

“Aww, he’s sleeping,” Ariadne whispers.

“Will you stop staring at him?” Arthur says.

She twitches open the curtain. “He’s so cute.”

Arthur scoffs as he stacks meals into his cart. “Feel free to take all his calls then.”

“I wouldn’t do that to him,” Ariadne says, earnest. “He’d miss you.”

Arthur sighs. “Why do I talk to you?” 

“You love me.”

He snorts, but doesn’t contradict her. He pushes his cart down the aisle, grabbing people’s trash and replacing it with a delicious airplane meal (a sandwich, crackers, and fruit). 

He draws up to Eames’s seat. The guy really does have ridiculous lips. He leans in to take the trash from his tray. In that moment, their faces inches from each other, Eames’s eyes flutter open.

Arthur freezes, caught in Eames’s gaze. He feels his face heat.

“Hello, Arthur,” Eames murmurs.

Arthur jerks away. A wrapper flutters to the floor. “How do you know my name?” he demands.

Eames smiles. “Your colleague was kind enough to lend it to me when I asked.”

Arthur slaps Eames’s food onto his tray, sending a glare back down the aisle, where he catches the curtain fluttering shut. _“Ariadne,”_ he hisses.

Eames beams. “Thank you, darling, I was just feeling peckish.”

“I spat in it,” Arthur tells him, and pushes forward.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/182095722@N05/48416698386/in/dateposted-public/)

...

Almost the second Arthur’s finished giving out the meals and retreated to the galley, his alert goes off.

Ariadne smirks at Arthur. “Eames needs you.”

“You and him are best friends now, huh?”

Ariadne lounges against the two inches of free wall space. “He’s told me all about his undying love for you,” she says.

Arthur regards her suspiciously. “Do you actually do work around here?” he asks.

Ariadne strikes a pose. “Yes,” she says. “I’m eye candy for the ladies.”

When Arthur arrives at Eames’s seat, Eames greets him with, “Ah, lovely Arthur. I was just thinking about you and your gorgeous brown eyes. I just wanted to say that the food tastes wonderful. Could you send my compliments to the chef?”

Arthur breathes out of his nose. “Certainly, sir.”

“Eames, please. I only respond to sir in certain scenarios.” He winks.

Arthur glances at the slumbering passengers around them, then pushes into Eames’s space and jabs his finger into Eames’s shoulder. “You listen, Mr. _Eames,”_ he whispers. “You better shut the hell up if you know what’s good for you or by God I’m throwing you out of this plane myself. I am not here for your pleasure. I am responsible for your life. I’m just as happy to be responsible for your death.” Arthur smiles. “Okay?”

They stare at each other in a moment of staticky silence, Arthur’s heart pounding in his chest. Eames’s eyes are dark, and his tongue comes out to lave his lips. 

“There he is,” Eames murmurs.

...

“Did something happen with twelve-B?” Ariadne asks.

“Why?” Arthur says stiffly.

“He’s been staring at you for the past twenty minutes--”

“I _know,”_ Arthur says.

“--like, really intently, and that’s saying something. Also, you’re kind of…” she eyes him “...flushed.”

“This is all your fault, you know,” Arthur says desperately.

Ariadne looks amused. “Oh yeah?”

“If you didn’t give him my _name--”_

“Arthur, please,” Ariadne says. “I know how you are when you like someone. I’m just...speeding along the process.” She pauses, then becomes serious. “If you really don’t like this guy, you know I’d just switch sections with you.”

“Whatever.” Arthur edges around her past the curtain, where he can see Eames reaching up for the attendant button again.

“Ah, Arthur, darling,” Eames says. “I just need help locating the loo.”

Arthur runs his tongue along his teeth. “In the back,” he says.

“But, where?” Eames crinkles his forehead, theatrically confused. “I get lost so easily, Arthur, dear.” He bites at his own lip.

Arthur breathes in through his nose, then curls his hand around Eames’s wrist in a vice grip and pulls him out of the seat.

“Okay,” he says pleasantly. “This way.”

...

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to, pet,” Eames gasps when his back hits the inside of the bathroom door. “I was only teasing.”

“Shut up,” Arthur snaps. He licks a stripe down his palm and slips it into Eames’s pants, muffling Eames’s groan with his mouth in something that isn’t quite a kiss. They’re so close together that Arthur can feel Eames’s ridiculous chest pressed all along his own, rising and falling.

At Eames’s tentative touch to Arthur’s waist, Arthur bites down on Eames’s lower lip, hard.

“Mmph.” Eames pants. “Jesus, Arthur.” 

Arthur bares his teeth and speeds up his hand. Eames’s breath hitches, his fingers tightening in Arthur’s side. Arthur presses their mouths together again, pulls harder, faster, and Eames comes quickly enough.

Arthur turns to the sink and washes his hands. In the mirror, he watches Eames gape at him like a fish.

Eames manages a hesitant, “Do you…?” 

Arthur regards him contemptuously. “Is that what you wanted?” he bites out, and leaves the bathroom.

…

“Arthur.”

Arthur makes a noise into his pillow.

“Are you avoiding Eames?”

Arthur rolls to his side on the bed and looks at Ariadne, who’s paused at the entrance of the crew cabin.

“My shift is over,” he grouses.

“He’s been asking everyone where you are,” Ariadne says. “Like, _everyone._ Other passengers are starting to complain about it.”

Arthur groans and squeezes his eyes shut. “Tell him he can screw whoever took my place.”

Ariadne sighs. She clambers further into the crew cabin, next to Arthur’s bunk.

“Arthur,” she says, soft. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

Arthur turns his face into his pillow. “I’m not doing anything,” he mumbles.

“Every time,” she says. “Why not, just this once, have a little fun? Arthur…” She sighs. “You need to let him go. He’s not coming back to you. You deserve better.”

“This isn’t about him,” Arthur tells his pillow.

“Just...think about it,” Ariadne says.

She leaves him to spend the rest of the flight in his bunk alone.

…

Arthur’s got about an hour before his next flight, and he’s spending it using all of his meal vouchers at the airport bar.

Whatever. He never claimed to be a saint.

A familiar tacky leaf shirt slides into the seat next to him just as the bartender’s refilling his drink.

“Can I have a whiskey?” Eames asks the bartender.

Arthur stares at him. “What are you doing?”

Eames looks surprised. “Well, getting a drink, dear Arthur.”

“Hm.” They sit in silence as they both watch the bartender slide the drink across to Eames, then Arthur says, “I can’t help but notice. No leg pains at all, Mr. Eames?”

Eames’s lips twitch up. “Not this time. Must have been the fabulous company.” He looks down into his glass. “Arthur--I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“You’re the one who got off,” Arthur remarks.

“You are a very beautiful man,” Eames continues, “and I take a lot of drugs to fly.”

A pause. “No, you don’t.”

“I don’t,” Eames admits. “I just naturally embarrass myself around lovely people.”

Arthur narrows his eyes suspiciously at Eames. “Did Ariadne put you up to this?”

“No.” Eames’s eyebrows pull together. “Does she do that?”

Arthur swirls his scotch and tilts his head at Eames. “Do you have somewhere to be, Mr. Eames?” he asks mildly. “You came to LA for a reason.”

“I’m versatile,” Eames says. He indicates his drink toward Arthur. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You’re a busy, important man. You must have somewhere to be.”

Arthur huffs, amused. “I’ve got a flight to Tokyo in less than an hour,” he says.

“Enough time for me to take you to dinner?”

Arthur looks away, bringing his glass to his lips. “You don’t have to,” he says into it. At Eames’s inquisitive noise, he continues, “I’m--I. I’m not much.”

“Arthur, darling,” Eames rumbles. “You contain multitudes. I could unwrap you for hours.”

Arthur feels his face heat, and he sips quickly from his scotch.

“So.” Eames leans in. “Dinner? Snack? Coffee? Anything really.”

“A meal in fabulous LAX? You spoil me.”

“I can spoil you more later. Where are you going after Tokyo?” 

Arthur props his head on his hand and considers him. “Are you stalking me, Mr. Eames?”

Eames looks contrite. “Only if you want me to.”

“You’re a sleaze,” Arthur accuses, smile tugging at his mouth.

Eames starts smiling, too. “Only if you want me to.”

“I’ll let you know in Tokyo.” Arthur starts getting out of his seat.

Eames scrambles up. “Where are you going?”

Arthur grabs his jacket from the back of his chair. “Getting dinner with some creep,” he says.

“So now I’m a sleaze and a creep?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Anything else?”

Arthur taps the bar and raises his eyebrows at Eames. “Have dinner with me and maybe you’ll find out.”

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://queuebird.tumblr.com)


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